


Eroticized Rage

by Laywithmeart



Category: Line of Duty (TV 2012)
Genre: F/F, Fighting Kink, Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-19 00:41:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29617938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laywithmeart/pseuds/Laywithmeart
Summary: A super gay story based on this one exchange that popped into my mind:“I don’t like your hair that short.”“I don’t like your fringe.”Kate and Lindsay meet again years later and release some anger towards one another in a truly carnal manner. So, Lindsay wasn’t shot in the head, didn’t find the list nor managed to clear her name.
Relationships: Lindsay Denton/Kate Fleming
Kudos: 4





	Eroticized Rage

_ Don’t let it be her, don’t let it be her, don’t let it be her, _ Kate pleads with some universal influence out there. 

But the universe is not on her side. 

It is her. It’s the woman who had managed to both make her blood boil and halt her senses with self-doubt on multiple occasions. 

Lindsay bloody Denton.

She hadn’t realized the amount of contempt she still held for this woman until she just spotted her behind the desk, fully donned in the establishment’s uniform, obviously having found work that’s less humiliating than her former employment. 

Lindsay may never know this, but it was her that kicked off this  incestuous self-doubt within her. Ever since failing Denton’s case, it comes to crawl under her skin at the worst possible moments, making her hesitant and in suspicion of her own instincts. 

It’s marking her life, influencing all aspects.

She’s since lost her relationship for good, her home, her bond with her son is near non-existent. All she has got to show for herself is her job, which sort of happens to be slipping through her fingers lately. She hasn’t been on her game for some time, hasn’t been giving what the job requires and  Hastings has been cutting her slack but he won’t for much longer, she can simply sense it. 

And now, the reason for that inadequacy is standing right in front of her, staring her in the face. 

“Good afternoon, Kate.”

“That’s still  DI Fleming  to you, Lindsay. I didn’t know you worked at this hotel.”

Denton smiles, but she can see beyond it. It’s hostile, forced, full of accusations. 

“Started a year ago already. How time flies.” 

“It sure does,” Kate replies curtly. “I need some information about one of your guests.”

“Why, you’re going to frame them too?” It seems to have slipped out before she could stop herself if Lindsay’s momentarily bowed head and lip bite is anything to go by. 

Kate remains quiet for a moment, not inclined to take the bait nor to be swayed off target. “He stayed here until yesterday according to his financial records, a mister Davies. I would like to have a look at the room in which he stayed.”

Luckily - or rather utterly un-fucking-lucky as it would later turn out to be - the room hadn’t been relet to a new guest yet and thus available for her inspection.

  
  


She doesn’t know how, but they’ve ended up on the bed. After pushing and gripping and cussing each other out, they’re now both vigorously thrusting and grinding. They’re downright having sex. And not just any sex, but the sort that is much like a punch to the stomach, wholly confounding, entirely perplexing. Thrilling, in a way.

Neither of them really wants to be doing this, of course, but that little fact sure isn’t stopping their actions. Their shared animosity has clearly triggered something within them, something that does not accord with the expectations of loathing for their fingers are quickly curled deep inside one another. 

Exquisite dainty C’s are formed, g-spots are found and aroused, moans and grunts tumble from lips as initial climaxes start to build. 

They don’t kiss. 

They don’t even check to see if the other is coming apart as well. 

For a while, the only sound in the room is their combined, harsh breathing. And then the silence breaks. 

A voice, still out of breath, “I don’t like your hair that short.” 

“Well, I don’t like your fringe.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love:)


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